Dear Reader,
Thanksgiving.........Usually.........Sucks.
There, I said, it. That’s all it takes, really, isn’t it?
Everyone has Thanksgiving issues and “traditions,” including a story or two that probably define Thanksgiving for that family. I know that my family certainly does, some of which stories involve me.
Now, here’s a thought: why does “Thanksgiving” have to be on one, singular day, imbued with so much angst, weight, guilt, hope, love, real or hoped-for affection, largess? Why can’t a day of “thanksgiving” be recognized by individuals or families when those occasions present themselves for those folks? Why are we supposed to gather up all of the things we have to be thankful for, and only celebrate them on this day? Why can’t we celebrate whenever there is a time to be thankful?
The reason I think, is because these days, we are almost embarrassed to be happy or thankful. Many of us live great lives, but we look at what we think we lack, not at what we have. And I don’t mean what we have, compared to people in Africa or India, who truly have nothing. I mean, we compare ourselves reflexively to people on TV or in the news, to those morons who have everything and do nothing with it except buy more things for themselves. Paris Hilton, Nicole Ritchie, Brittany Spears, Sean Combs, Jay Leno (with a garage full of ultra-luxury cars and motorcycles): these famous people who have multiple, palatial homes, multiple cars, and huge screen HDTV’s in every room that they don’t even watch, live in or drive, are the people used as examples of what the rest of us should aspire to, at least with regard to what they have or do. Then, if they make a guest appearance at a high-end charity fundraiser, or donate a few thousand dollars, they proclaim their great generosity and take on the mantle of sainthood.
Look at the percentages of their incomes that the rest of the fabulously wealthy contribute to charity. Look at what the Waltons and the rest of the top BILLIONAIRES in this country (forget about those in the rest of the world) make in direct charitable donations. Never mind those poor, poverty-stricken MILLIONAIRES! If all of these folks gave even half a tithe, a twentieth of their annual income (NOT a twentieth of their assets) to charity, so many people would be helped we might be looking at a different world. And, if they gave a portion of their assets, the world would be even THAT much better!
Now, I am aware that some of the richer class give tremendous amounts to charity; they give amounts of money that can actually make a difference. But so many of them don’t. The only “charities” they donate to are their progeny, or spouses, keeping the wealth in the family. I also realize these people cannot be forced to share their wealth; they are given tax and other incentives to do so, it’s good marketing and P/R for themselves or their businesses, but to some, these things aren’t important. To them, a new pair of Manolo Blahniks or a new Jag is the priority. Too bad.
Maybe I’m a giddy optimist, and am good at spending other folk’s money. But when we live in an age where some peoples’ private fortunes are in the same league as some nations’ GNP’s, I think we have a problem with too much wealth concentrated in too few hands, even in our capitalist, laissez-faire economy and society.
On this Thanksgiving I was grateful to be with friends, with whom I had some interesting political argument. I realized I’m not alone in hoping the country will get better after this most recent election, but the jury is still out on the “new” Democratic power base.
The larger issues remain, however. There is such a great disparity between the wealthy and the poor in this country; what used to be the “middle-class” has virtually disappeared, and those of us still in the middle are being squeezed terribly. There is so much to be done, and we simply can’t afford to do it; the wealthy upper-class has to take on its “tithe,” and help the rest of our society pull itself up by its bootstraps. Truly, if this were all the wealthy did, they would be doing much more than they are now and the word “Thanksgiving” would have some real meaning to so many others.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Catbird
Friday, November 24, 2006
Sunday, November 19, 2006
That’s Entertainment!
Dear Reader,
The title above is meant to be somewhat ironic. At the moment I am watching “Apocalypse Now-Redux.” I have seen the original movie in whole or in part a couple of times, but not this new cut, until now. I’m watching it on Bravo, so much of the hard-core cussing has been cut out, as I am sure many really juicy, bloody scenes have been, as well.
I’m watching it to be edified. I don’t normally do this. When I watch a movie, I want to be entertained. If I pay to go to a film, I want to come out feeling better than when I went in, not worse. I don’t want to come out of a movie questioning my existence, my intelligence, or wondering what the meaning of life is. I don’t want to regret having lost those two hours sitting through something that makes me dissatisfied or unhappy, then use my time talking or writing about it (see: http://zirconrough.blogspot.com/2006/11/faking-pledge.html). This doesn’t mean I am shallow; I just like to be amused. I am watching “Apoc.Now-Redux” so that I can say, at some point, that I did indeed see it, and had an opinion on it. So far, I’ve found the additional segments to be tedious and too long, and the new background music is so different as to make it obvious that these were later additions. Not being a cinema expert, my opinions are probably amateurish; so be it. I’m willing to watch this at home, late at night because, frankly, there is nothing else on and I’m not paying for it.
As I said above, if I am paying for entertainment, I want to be entertained. I want to come out of a movie or a show with a skip in my step, or at least a partial smile on my face. I get enough edification and updating from the newspapers, the radio, the internet and MSNBC or CNN Headline News. There’s enough bad news and crap to deal with in the world, the nation and this City, to warrant a little fun when one goes out. This is decidedly not an “intellectual” approach to the arts, I suppose.
I sometimes refer to people I find to be intellectually snobbish as “pseudo-intellectuals.” I recently realized that the comparison I was drawing between real intellectuals, i.e., people who are smart in a well-rounded way, and “pseudo-intellectuals,” i.e., people who like to demonstrate how “smart” they are, is essentially the same as the comparison between the established wealthy, and the nouveau-riche. The established wealthy generally have class, true style, and manners. The nouveau-riche just want to show how much stuff they have. I think the same principal applies to intellect, and the demonstrations and uses thereof.
Now, in the midst of this writing, I am watching Dennis Hopper in this film (Apocalypse Now-Redux), and he is "Fucking Brilliant." I have to say it that way. He is still Fucking Brilliant, even in the “retirement” ads he’s currently doing. And, Marlon Brando is brilliant, as are Martin Sheen and Robert Duvall. How did these four actors put in such unbelievable performances? Raw talent, I suppose, and maybe some directing by Coppola. But I digress, as I frequently do.
The point of this entry is not to defend my not having seen every film that has ever been released, or read every book published. In addition to the entertainment aspect, I also like to save my brain to try to remember who I meet, what I talk about with them, their names, etc. Sometimes I’m successful, sometimes not. Frequently, I remember discussions I’ve had with people before I remember their names. I also have to save some space in my mind for my work. Accounting/bookkeeping involves remembering minute details about a particular client’s business, details which the client is frequently conversant with, although sometimes not. And if they are not, I have to remember for them. In addition, because I work on-site many times, I have to remember where everything in each office is located: my work space, office supplies, how the copier works, that location's computer system, etc. Lots of memory required!
Damn, Brando was Amazing! Too bad he became such a parody of himself later.
I wish sometimes I could say I’d seen every movie, or read every book. I haven’t. But don’t insult me by asking me if I’ve ever seen anything (yes I have, just not all of the sad, serious stuff; ask me anything about Star Wars, Star Trek, Marx Brothers, Terminator, Lion King, sci-fi, Lord of the Rings, etc., and I can tell you all); don’t demean me by asking me if I like to read (yes, I do; the newspaper, gardening books, music and the occasional interesting novel or history book). I am not a pseudo-intellectual; I don’t need to demonstrate how smart I am by always citing stuff exterior to my own thoughts. My own mind is a good enough demonstration of my smarts.
Oh, and the Doors are totally unbelievable (another Apoc.Now.Redux reference). What would rock music be if Jim Morrison hadn’t died??
More to Come,
Catbird
The title above is meant to be somewhat ironic. At the moment I am watching “Apocalypse Now-Redux.” I have seen the original movie in whole or in part a couple of times, but not this new cut, until now. I’m watching it on Bravo, so much of the hard-core cussing has been cut out, as I am sure many really juicy, bloody scenes have been, as well.
I’m watching it to be edified. I don’t normally do this. When I watch a movie, I want to be entertained. If I pay to go to a film, I want to come out feeling better than when I went in, not worse. I don’t want to come out of a movie questioning my existence, my intelligence, or wondering what the meaning of life is. I don’t want to regret having lost those two hours sitting through something that makes me dissatisfied or unhappy, then use my time talking or writing about it (see: http://zirconrough.blogspot.com/2006/11/faking-pledge.html). This doesn’t mean I am shallow; I just like to be amused. I am watching “Apoc.Now-Redux” so that I can say, at some point, that I did indeed see it, and had an opinion on it. So far, I’ve found the additional segments to be tedious and too long, and the new background music is so different as to make it obvious that these were later additions. Not being a cinema expert, my opinions are probably amateurish; so be it. I’m willing to watch this at home, late at night because, frankly, there is nothing else on and I’m not paying for it.
As I said above, if I am paying for entertainment, I want to be entertained. I want to come out of a movie or a show with a skip in my step, or at least a partial smile on my face. I get enough edification and updating from the newspapers, the radio, the internet and MSNBC or CNN Headline News. There’s enough bad news and crap to deal with in the world, the nation and this City, to warrant a little fun when one goes out. This is decidedly not an “intellectual” approach to the arts, I suppose.
I sometimes refer to people I find to be intellectually snobbish as “pseudo-intellectuals.” I recently realized that the comparison I was drawing between real intellectuals, i.e., people who are smart in a well-rounded way, and “pseudo-intellectuals,” i.e., people who like to demonstrate how “smart” they are, is essentially the same as the comparison between the established wealthy, and the nouveau-riche. The established wealthy generally have class, true style, and manners. The nouveau-riche just want to show how much stuff they have. I think the same principal applies to intellect, and the demonstrations and uses thereof.
Now, in the midst of this writing, I am watching Dennis Hopper in this film (Apocalypse Now-Redux), and he is "Fucking Brilliant." I have to say it that way. He is still Fucking Brilliant, even in the “retirement” ads he’s currently doing. And, Marlon Brando is brilliant, as are Martin Sheen and Robert Duvall. How did these four actors put in such unbelievable performances? Raw talent, I suppose, and maybe some directing by Coppola. But I digress, as I frequently do.
The point of this entry is not to defend my not having seen every film that has ever been released, or read every book published. In addition to the entertainment aspect, I also like to save my brain to try to remember who I meet, what I talk about with them, their names, etc. Sometimes I’m successful, sometimes not. Frequently, I remember discussions I’ve had with people before I remember their names. I also have to save some space in my mind for my work. Accounting/bookkeeping involves remembering minute details about a particular client’s business, details which the client is frequently conversant with, although sometimes not. And if they are not, I have to remember for them. In addition, because I work on-site many times, I have to remember where everything in each office is located: my work space, office supplies, how the copier works, that location's computer system, etc. Lots of memory required!
Damn, Brando was Amazing! Too bad he became such a parody of himself later.
I wish sometimes I could say I’d seen every movie, or read every book. I haven’t. But don’t insult me by asking me if I’ve ever seen anything (yes I have, just not all of the sad, serious stuff; ask me anything about Star Wars, Star Trek, Marx Brothers, Terminator, Lion King, sci-fi, Lord of the Rings, etc., and I can tell you all); don’t demean me by asking me if I like to read (yes, I do; the newspaper, gardening books, music and the occasional interesting novel or history book). I am not a pseudo-intellectual; I don’t need to demonstrate how smart I am by always citing stuff exterior to my own thoughts. My own mind is a good enough demonstration of my smarts.
Oh, and the Doors are totally unbelievable (another Apoc.Now.Redux reference). What would rock music be if Jim Morrison hadn’t died??
More to Come,
Catbird
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Third Try! Klaatu Barada Nikto!
Dear Readers,
Okay, no takers as of 11/15/06, so the offer has been extended again:
Klaatu Barada Nikto. You name the reference, I'll buy you a drink: for the first 5 correct answers in NYC only, to 12/15/06.
Come on, people!
Have fun,
Catbird
PS: HInt: http://www.answers.com/topic/klaatu-barada-nikto
Okay, no takers as of 11/15/06, so the offer has been extended again:
Klaatu Barada Nikto. You name the reference, I'll buy you a drink: for the first 5 correct answers in NYC only, to 12/15/06.
Come on, people!
Have fun,
Catbird
PS: HInt: http://www.answers.com/topic/klaatu-barada-nikto
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Crud.
Dear Reader,
Crud, again.
Saturday in the Park, as previously reported, was a lovely, nice day. But then we had a Sunday that rained all day, and then back to the real world on Monday.
I suppose Monday could have been worse. I made a breakthrough (I think) with a client, and had a decent time at a Riverside Park Fund meeting. But my internal milieu is so difficult, I’m left with a big sad place, which I just hate to feel.
I’ve had so much loss and death in the last two months. Loss of what I thought was affection, which apparently was never there in the first place; death of my eleven-year-old companion cat; death of a therapy partner dog; loss of my own ability to reach out; loss of most feelings of self-worth. How can I reconstruct this? How do I pull myself together again?
Where do I go from here? I feel that I’ve got no one. I don’t even know how to go out to a movie. I don’t want to be this isolated or curmudgeonly; apparently, I just am. Honestly, I don’t know where or how to begin. I’m swinging in the wind here, and have no clue as to what to do next. Any sensible advice would be appreciated.
Thanks and best,
Catbird
Crud, again.
Saturday in the Park, as previously reported, was a lovely, nice day. But then we had a Sunday that rained all day, and then back to the real world on Monday.
I suppose Monday could have been worse. I made a breakthrough (I think) with a client, and had a decent time at a Riverside Park Fund meeting. But my internal milieu is so difficult, I’m left with a big sad place, which I just hate to feel.
I’ve had so much loss and death in the last two months. Loss of what I thought was affection, which apparently was never there in the first place; death of my eleven-year-old companion cat; death of a therapy partner dog; loss of my own ability to reach out; loss of most feelings of self-worth. How can I reconstruct this? How do I pull myself together again?
Where do I go from here? I feel that I’ve got no one. I don’t even know how to go out to a movie. I don’t want to be this isolated or curmudgeonly; apparently, I just am. Honestly, I don’t know where or how to begin. I’m swinging in the wind here, and have no clue as to what to do next. Any sensible advice would be appreciated.
Thanks and best,
Catbird
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Indian Summer: A Peaceful Place in the City
Dear Reader,
Yesterday, Saturday November 11, Veteran’s Day, may also have been the first and last day of “Indian Summer.” According to the Old Farmer’s Almanac, Indian Summer traditionally begins on St. Martins Day, November 11, and continues for a few days or so; a last respite of warm weather before late fall and winter really settle in.
Yesterday in the park seemed more like an early spring day than a late fall one; lots of folks out, not just dog walkers, in light jackets or shirtsleeves, playing ball or soccer, or frisbee with the dog, or sitting on the benches and reading and talking.
I was out in the late afternoon, rolling up hoses for the season and planting spring bulbs. These were both activities which felt incongruous with the weather, but which had to be done because I know that, inevitably, the cold weather will arrive, the ground will freeze, and I won’t be able to do anything outdoors but rake leaves and pick up garbage.
Many of the “regulars” were out: the senior couple who, in the summer, bring their folding chairs and sit and read; the lady I spoke with last week about her recently deceased cat; a few other of the folks who normally walk their dogs in my area, including one lady who occasionally resents anyone else invading "her and her dogs’ park".
There was also a large group of folks, with several kids, babies and carriages. The aforementioned woman seemed to be getting agitated at their presence. I carried on a discussion with her, basically telling her that I was happy that she walked her dogs in my area, but that those people had the same right to be in the park. I steered her away from going over and confronting them, which she said she wanted to do. She has the typical old-timer Upper West Side "chip" on her shoulder, which I get occasionally: the idea that many of the new residents in our neighborhood look down their noses at us old-timers, as being less well-to-do (we may be), less cultured (not likely) or just less “qualified” to live in this neighborhood anymore.
My philosophy in the Park includes none of this. I am just as happy to welcome folks who have lived in the area for the last six decades as I am to welcome those who have just moved here from where ever. They are all Park Users to me; folks who come out to the Park for a breath of fresh air, to walk their dogs (and hopefully pick up after them), to smoke a cigar or a pipe or some ganja, to enjoy the plants and trees, to just hang in a peaceful place for a while.
I have tried to make my area of the Park a really peaceful, calming place, not just for me, but for everyone who comes by. In speaking with people who come by and spend time, I think in many ways I’ve succeeded, although there is still a lot of work to do. But at the moment, it seems to be a “peaceable kingdom,” where old neighbors and new, dogs and people and babies all seem to be able to get along. Even the squirrels are interactive, although not when a dog comes by.
I hope you can come out sometime, and visit. If you’re in NYC it’s an easy place to find.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Yesterday, Saturday November 11, Veteran’s Day, may also have been the first and last day of “Indian Summer.” According to the Old Farmer’s Almanac, Indian Summer traditionally begins on St. Martins Day, November 11, and continues for a few days or so; a last respite of warm weather before late fall and winter really settle in.
Yesterday in the park seemed more like an early spring day than a late fall one; lots of folks out, not just dog walkers, in light jackets or shirtsleeves, playing ball or soccer, or frisbee with the dog, or sitting on the benches and reading and talking.
I was out in the late afternoon, rolling up hoses for the season and planting spring bulbs. These were both activities which felt incongruous with the weather, but which had to be done because I know that, inevitably, the cold weather will arrive, the ground will freeze, and I won’t be able to do anything outdoors but rake leaves and pick up garbage.
Many of the “regulars” were out: the senior couple who, in the summer, bring their folding chairs and sit and read; the lady I spoke with last week about her recently deceased cat; a few other of the folks who normally walk their dogs in my area, including one lady who occasionally resents anyone else invading "her and her dogs’ park".
There was also a large group of folks, with several kids, babies and carriages. The aforementioned woman seemed to be getting agitated at their presence. I carried on a discussion with her, basically telling her that I was happy that she walked her dogs in my area, but that those people had the same right to be in the park. I steered her away from going over and confronting them, which she said she wanted to do. She has the typical old-timer Upper West Side "chip" on her shoulder, which I get occasionally: the idea that many of the new residents in our neighborhood look down their noses at us old-timers, as being less well-to-do (we may be), less cultured (not likely) or just less “qualified” to live in this neighborhood anymore.
My philosophy in the Park includes none of this. I am just as happy to welcome folks who have lived in the area for the last six decades as I am to welcome those who have just moved here from where ever. They are all Park Users to me; folks who come out to the Park for a breath of fresh air, to walk their dogs (and hopefully pick up after them), to smoke a cigar or a pipe or some ganja, to enjoy the plants and trees, to just hang in a peaceful place for a while.
I have tried to make my area of the Park a really peaceful, calming place, not just for me, but for everyone who comes by. In speaking with people who come by and spend time, I think in many ways I’ve succeeded, although there is still a lot of work to do. But at the moment, it seems to be a “peaceable kingdom,” where old neighbors and new, dogs and people and babies all seem to be able to get along. Even the squirrels are interactive, although not when a dog comes by.
I hope you can come out sometime, and visit. If you’re in NYC it’s an easy place to find.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
It's Not Over Yet!
Dear Reader,
A short note on the elections yesterday.
Despite the Democratic victories (hence, my BLUE typeface), it's not over yet. At this point in the AM, 3:55 EST, the House has been decided, but the Senate is still a toss-up and might remain Republican. Even if it doesn't, it could end up as a tied body, in which case Cheney will revel in the role of tie-breaker.
And don't discount Bush's bully pulpit. Even as a lame duck, low-approval-rating president, he is still president (unless the congress can impeach him and get him out of office), and still has the power of the Executive branch of government behind him. This allows him a lot of leeway, and a lot of power which he can continue to misuse.
So, don't go all out in your celebrations. There is still a long way to go, and much work to do, to get back our Constitutional government and many of the civil rights that have been encroached upon by this administration. And we have to keep up the work to maintain the rights we have. A House of Representatives majority doesn't mean a complete victory; just a partial one, which could simply end up as a morass if the Senate remains Republican.
There are still two years until the next presidential election, and who knows what will happen in the interim. The US engages in a "police action" in Iran; North Korean nuclear attack on the South or Japan; wholesale collapse in Iraq; Bush senior dies and it leads to a huge wave of Republican sympathy, allowing Jeb to be elected President? Oh, now I won't be able to go to sleep!
Dream on,
Catbird
A short note on the elections yesterday.
Despite the Democratic victories (hence, my BLUE typeface), it's not over yet. At this point in the AM, 3:55 EST, the House has been decided, but the Senate is still a toss-up and might remain Republican. Even if it doesn't, it could end up as a tied body, in which case Cheney will revel in the role of tie-breaker.
And don't discount Bush's bully pulpit. Even as a lame duck, low-approval-rating president, he is still president (unless the congress can impeach him and get him out of office), and still has the power of the Executive branch of government behind him. This allows him a lot of leeway, and a lot of power which he can continue to misuse.
So, don't go all out in your celebrations. There is still a long way to go, and much work to do, to get back our Constitutional government and many of the civil rights that have been encroached upon by this administration. And we have to keep up the work to maintain the rights we have. A House of Representatives majority doesn't mean a complete victory; just a partial one, which could simply end up as a morass if the Senate remains Republican.
There are still two years until the next presidential election, and who knows what will happen in the interim. The US engages in a "police action" in Iran; North Korean nuclear attack on the South or Japan; wholesale collapse in Iraq; Bush senior dies and it leads to a huge wave of Republican sympathy, allowing Jeb to be elected President? Oh, now I won't be able to go to sleep!
Dream on,
Catbird
Space Invaders!
Dear Reader,
When one has lived in one’s abode for as long as I have in mine, it’s sometimes extremely difficult to have people in to work on the place. This has led to my learning many repair skills, including electrical wiring, some plumbing, etc. But some things are just beyond me, for whatever reason.
In the immediate case, the ceiling in the main room of my studio desperately needed painting. I knew I simply would not be able to accomplish this job, (I’d done it before, but these days I’m just stretched too thin) so I scheduled with my building management to have the painters come in on October 30. Unfortunately, that day came in the midst of an incredible confluence of events that didn’t stop until the end of the day on the 31st. Actually, the after-effects haven’t stopped yet.
Ten days earlier, the man I had been trying to see dumped me for the second time; this really set me back. Then, on the 26th, my terminally ill cat, Winky, died, which, though not a surprise, broke my heart further. On Sunday, the 29th, the day before the painters were to arrive, the men of my chorus, plus a cast of additional hundreds, had a major performance. In addition to being there to support “our boys,” I also had to prepare and distribute the payroll for the many professional singers we hired for this gig. So, I had to go to the concert hall at the same time as the guys did for their dress rehearsal (early, for me on a Sunday!), plus show up trying to look great in the process. I got home in the early evening Sunday, too tired to do much to prepare for the advent of the painters the next day. Despite my fatigue, I couldn’t go to sleep; too stressed from all of the previously mentioned events.
I didn’t get to sleep until around 4 AM; I had moved a couple of things, but not much. Just to make it clear; my apartment is a studio; one room, separate kitchen, bathroom (thank heaven!), and a decent-sized hallway all of which are pretty much filled to capacity. In my defense, my “piles” were organized, so I actually knew where everything was. “Knew,” being the operative word.
The painters arrived promptly at 8:30 AM, and the front desk person held off buzzing me until 8:40. I asked her to hold them down there for a few minutes, and tried to get dressed and begin clearing out a few piles. But to where? Well, onto the couch, onto the bed, into the bathtub; anywhere there was some space. The painters came up, and helped me in my efforts to clear space. I didn’t pay any attention to where particular blocs of materials were being placed or thrown; I just wanted to get the stuff out of the way so they could get started. What a revelation! So much stuff; so little space! We managed to clear away enough so that the two-man crew could get to work; first it was hanging drop cloths over the entire room, then taping and scraping. Then it was plastering, and the end of Day 1. After they left, I tried to assess the situation, but it was, frankly, simply too overwhelming.
I was really happy with the two men who did the work, though. Pablo was from Chile; he spoke Spanish with that Castilian “lithp,” and hummed and whistled music that I was very familiar with: Bach, Brahms, even Beethoven. I asked him about it, and it turned out he is a tenor in his church’s choir, in which he sings with his wife! He was impressed that I was able to identify the selections he hummed; I was happy to have a musician in my apartment. The other man, Jose, didn’t speak much English, but was very kind and helpful, and both guys seemed to be understanding of the situation in my place. I apologized repeatedly for the difficult working conditions, and their responses were gracious and helped me to not feel so bad.
The second day, Hallowe’en, was the actual painting day. On that same day, I had to get to a client downtown (I had taken the day before off), and then run up to the church where my chorus rehearses and get the place set up for a party, and get into my Hallowe’en costume. I managed to pull it off, somehow, without being too late or looking too disheveled. But, with all of the running, I had no time to try and get my apartment back to “normal,” whatever that means. I still haven’t been able to accomplish that; just too much stuff to try and realign. So, I’m just trying to clear out, but that’s almost more difficult, though refreshing.
In the meantime, my two remaining cats dealt with the situation in each one’s unique way. Big Guy was a perfect gentleman; he stayed out and watched as the work progressed, and even interacted with the painters some. Kootie not only hid under the bed the entire time, but found a small box into which she crammed her large self head first. It took her three days to finally come out, although she did come out to use the box while I was sleeping. The poor thing was completely traumatized, however. She still runs and hides when she hears someone out in the hallway. I’m proud of both of them, though. Given that this upheaval happened so soon after their compatriot, Winky, died, they both have come through it very well, and are adapting to the reconfiguration of the stacks, piles and groupings in my apartment. Being cats, they have the physical flexibility to do so, and they’ve demonstrated their emotional flexibility as well. I wish I could adapt to change as well as they have!
More to come,
Catbird
When one has lived in one’s abode for as long as I have in mine, it’s sometimes extremely difficult to have people in to work on the place. This has led to my learning many repair skills, including electrical wiring, some plumbing, etc. But some things are just beyond me, for whatever reason.
In the immediate case, the ceiling in the main room of my studio desperately needed painting. I knew I simply would not be able to accomplish this job, (I’d done it before, but these days I’m just stretched too thin) so I scheduled with my building management to have the painters come in on October 30. Unfortunately, that day came in the midst of an incredible confluence of events that didn’t stop until the end of the day on the 31st. Actually, the after-effects haven’t stopped yet.
Ten days earlier, the man I had been trying to see dumped me for the second time; this really set me back. Then, on the 26th, my terminally ill cat, Winky, died, which, though not a surprise, broke my heart further. On Sunday, the 29th, the day before the painters were to arrive, the men of my chorus, plus a cast of additional hundreds, had a major performance. In addition to being there to support “our boys,” I also had to prepare and distribute the payroll for the many professional singers we hired for this gig. So, I had to go to the concert hall at the same time as the guys did for their dress rehearsal (early, for me on a Sunday!), plus show up trying to look great in the process. I got home in the early evening Sunday, too tired to do much to prepare for the advent of the painters the next day. Despite my fatigue, I couldn’t go to sleep; too stressed from all of the previously mentioned events.
I didn’t get to sleep until around 4 AM; I had moved a couple of things, but not much. Just to make it clear; my apartment is a studio; one room, separate kitchen, bathroom (thank heaven!), and a decent-sized hallway all of which are pretty much filled to capacity. In my defense, my “piles” were organized, so I actually knew where everything was. “Knew,” being the operative word.
The painters arrived promptly at 8:30 AM, and the front desk person held off buzzing me until 8:40. I asked her to hold them down there for a few minutes, and tried to get dressed and begin clearing out a few piles. But to where? Well, onto the couch, onto the bed, into the bathtub; anywhere there was some space. The painters came up, and helped me in my efforts to clear space. I didn’t pay any attention to where particular blocs of materials were being placed or thrown; I just wanted to get the stuff out of the way so they could get started. What a revelation! So much stuff; so little space! We managed to clear away enough so that the two-man crew could get to work; first it was hanging drop cloths over the entire room, then taping and scraping. Then it was plastering, and the end of Day 1. After they left, I tried to assess the situation, but it was, frankly, simply too overwhelming.
I was really happy with the two men who did the work, though. Pablo was from Chile; he spoke Spanish with that Castilian “lithp,” and hummed and whistled music that I was very familiar with: Bach, Brahms, even Beethoven. I asked him about it, and it turned out he is a tenor in his church’s choir, in which he sings with his wife! He was impressed that I was able to identify the selections he hummed; I was happy to have a musician in my apartment. The other man, Jose, didn’t speak much English, but was very kind and helpful, and both guys seemed to be understanding of the situation in my place. I apologized repeatedly for the difficult working conditions, and their responses were gracious and helped me to not feel so bad.
The second day, Hallowe’en, was the actual painting day. On that same day, I had to get to a client downtown (I had taken the day before off), and then run up to the church where my chorus rehearses and get the place set up for a party, and get into my Hallowe’en costume. I managed to pull it off, somehow, without being too late or looking too disheveled. But, with all of the running, I had no time to try and get my apartment back to “normal,” whatever that means. I still haven’t been able to accomplish that; just too much stuff to try and realign. So, I’m just trying to clear out, but that’s almost more difficult, though refreshing.
In the meantime, my two remaining cats dealt with the situation in each one’s unique way. Big Guy was a perfect gentleman; he stayed out and watched as the work progressed, and even interacted with the painters some. Kootie not only hid under the bed the entire time, but found a small box into which she crammed her large self head first. It took her three days to finally come out, although she did come out to use the box while I was sleeping. The poor thing was completely traumatized, however. She still runs and hides when she hears someone out in the hallway. I’m proud of both of them, though. Given that this upheaval happened so soon after their compatriot, Winky, died, they both have come through it very well, and are adapting to the reconfiguration of the stacks, piles and groupings in my apartment. Being cats, they have the physical flexibility to do so, and they’ve demonstrated their emotional flexibility as well. I wish I could adapt to change as well as they have!
More to come,
Catbird
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Party On?
Hallowe’en, Tuesday, October 31, 2006 (I'm a little behind!)
Dear Reader,
Post Hallowe’en letdown, but not so bad at the moment. We had a good rehearsal and party, and I was so pleased that so many members of the chorus stayed and partook, and came in costume!
It’s sometimes hard being the one who is always saying “Let’s have a party;” “Maybe we can have small gatherings to work on music (musicales or salons);” “Where are we going after the concert?;” even, “Let’s go out for drinks after rehearsal.” It begins to appear that either I have no other social life, or that I’m a hopeless drunk. At the moment, the former is more accurate than the latter.
What I am trying to do is foster a sense of community in the group I sing with. I know that many people join choral groups solely for the music and performance, but many other folks join not only for the music but also as a social exercise. People don’t join choral groups necessarily to meet that “certain someone,” but they do join frequently to establish or expand their social circles. Many choral singers, on moving to a new place, will look up the choruses first as their intro into the social life of their new home. I’ve seen this repeatedly in groups I have sung with. I did it myself when I came to New York City for college; the first thing I looked for on my college campus was the chorus. I still have friends from that group, 30 years later. In NYC, we are fortunate to have a wonderful choral resource, www.van.org, which is a website dedicated to choral groups and music in New York City and its environs.
The folks who sing with a chorus only for the music are okay, but these groups need that social aspect. If they did not have that, that is, if every member were there solely for the musical involvement, these organizations would cease to exist.
Most choral music organizations in New York City are “amateur” groups. Many of us prefer the word “avocational” because we think it better reflects the fact that many of us have extensive music/vocal training, and have been singing and working with choruses for years, sometimes decades. The problem is, these groups rely on their members for leadership, service on the Board of Directors, writing, proof-reading, concert production, banking, budget preparation, marketing, bill paying, advertising, fund raising, scheduling, and all other aspects of the group’s operations. Most choruses have no professional staff aside from the Music Director or conductor; a few can afford to have paid management, but these are in the minority. Without some sort of esprit de corps, the groups won’t function, and choral music, at least in New York City, would be greatly reduced.
So, I keep beating the drum for some sort of social exercises in my chorus, and hope I don’t sound like a desperate, lonely woman. I love the group and the folks in it, and I am optimistic that we’ll continue to grow and get better. We have had a series of wonderful, professional-caliber concerts over the last year or so (see: http://zirconrough.blogspot.com/2006/03/waiting-for-gergiev.html), and despite some stresses, have become a more cohesive group. I am hoping this development will continue, and I think parties and other gatherings are a good way to foster that, even if people do think I’m just a “party girl.”
Party On,
Catbird
Dear Reader,
Post Hallowe’en letdown, but not so bad at the moment. We had a good rehearsal and party, and I was so pleased that so many members of the chorus stayed and partook, and came in costume!
It’s sometimes hard being the one who is always saying “Let’s have a party;” “Maybe we can have small gatherings to work on music (musicales or salons);” “Where are we going after the concert?;” even, “Let’s go out for drinks after rehearsal.” It begins to appear that either I have no other social life, or that I’m a hopeless drunk. At the moment, the former is more accurate than the latter.
What I am trying to do is foster a sense of community in the group I sing with. I know that many people join choral groups solely for the music and performance, but many other folks join not only for the music but also as a social exercise. People don’t join choral groups necessarily to meet that “certain someone,” but they do join frequently to establish or expand their social circles. Many choral singers, on moving to a new place, will look up the choruses first as their intro into the social life of their new home. I’ve seen this repeatedly in groups I have sung with. I did it myself when I came to New York City for college; the first thing I looked for on my college campus was the chorus. I still have friends from that group, 30 years later. In NYC, we are fortunate to have a wonderful choral resource, www.van.org, which is a website dedicated to choral groups and music in New York City and its environs.
The folks who sing with a chorus only for the music are okay, but these groups need that social aspect. If they did not have that, that is, if every member were there solely for the musical involvement, these organizations would cease to exist.
Most choral music organizations in New York City are “amateur” groups. Many of us prefer the word “avocational” because we think it better reflects the fact that many of us have extensive music/vocal training, and have been singing and working with choruses for years, sometimes decades. The problem is, these groups rely on their members for leadership, service on the Board of Directors, writing, proof-reading, concert production, banking, budget preparation, marketing, bill paying, advertising, fund raising, scheduling, and all other aspects of the group’s operations. Most choruses have no professional staff aside from the Music Director or conductor; a few can afford to have paid management, but these are in the minority. Without some sort of esprit de corps, the groups won’t function, and choral music, at least in New York City, would be greatly reduced.
So, I keep beating the drum for some sort of social exercises in my chorus, and hope I don’t sound like a desperate, lonely woman. I love the group and the folks in it, and I am optimistic that we’ll continue to grow and get better. We have had a series of wonderful, professional-caliber concerts over the last year or so (see: http://zirconrough.blogspot.com/2006/03/waiting-for-gergiev.html), and despite some stresses, have become a more cohesive group. I am hoping this development will continue, and I think parties and other gatherings are a good way to foster that, even if people do think I’m just a “party girl.”
Party On,
Catbird
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Repost: "Sadness"
Dear Reader,
I've reposted an entry, below, after pulling it down at the request of the person about whom it is primarily written.
I've made this repost for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that it's how I still feel, and it helps me to get my feelings out here.
I was also told by a friend, who has watched me go through the throes of the interaction with the gentleman in question, that I was a wimp to pull the entry because he didn't like it. I was trying to be amenable to him, but she's right. I didn't want to do a tit-for-tat with him, but it's not as if he didn't hurt me terribly, not once but twice.
In addition, I am assuming that he won't bother to look at this blog again after his initial perusal. He told me right out that he didn't bother to remember anything we talked about while we were seeing one another, including telling me about his girlfriend, which he did, twice. He has ceased replying to my emails, so I think I am making a safe assumption. I am also assuming that nothing I can say or do will make any difference or have any impact on him; to him, I am beneath notice. And I'm not trying to have any impact on him; I just want to post my entries as I see fit. If by some fluke he does visit again, well, "so sei es." Maybe we'll have something to discuss, though I doubt it.
I'm working on a couple of more topical, less burdensome columns, and I hope to get those posted soon. I do appreciate having this venue to vent in, even if no one is really reading!
Yours,
Catbird
I've reposted an entry, below, after pulling it down at the request of the person about whom it is primarily written.
I've made this repost for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that it's how I still feel, and it helps me to get my feelings out here.
I was also told by a friend, who has watched me go through the throes of the interaction with the gentleman in question, that I was a wimp to pull the entry because he didn't like it. I was trying to be amenable to him, but she's right. I didn't want to do a tit-for-tat with him, but it's not as if he didn't hurt me terribly, not once but twice.
In addition, I am assuming that he won't bother to look at this blog again after his initial perusal. He told me right out that he didn't bother to remember anything we talked about while we were seeing one another, including telling me about his girlfriend, which he did, twice. He has ceased replying to my emails, so I think I am making a safe assumption. I am also assuming that nothing I can say or do will make any difference or have any impact on him; to him, I am beneath notice. And I'm not trying to have any impact on him; I just want to post my entries as I see fit. If by some fluke he does visit again, well, "so sei es." Maybe we'll have something to discuss, though I doubt it.
I'm working on a couple of more topical, less burdensome columns, and I hope to get those posted soon. I do appreciate having this venue to vent in, even if no one is really reading!
Yours,
Catbird
Friday, November 03, 2006
NADIR
Dear Reader,
I'm at a low point. I wish I could just stop everything. I can't see the point of the exercise anymore.
I don't know what I should do. I'm pretty sure I'll just go to sleep, get up tomorrow, go to work and keep on. But I'm not doing it for me. I'm keeping on so that others won't be sad; my Dad, my sisters, nephew, a few (very few) friends, shrinks. But, frankly, there's nothing in it for me anymore, that I can discern. I don't see a future, or happiness or comfort; just more angst, anxiety, sadness and lonliness.
Solitary life in the Big Apple, I guess.
Catbird
I'm at a low point. I wish I could just stop everything. I can't see the point of the exercise anymore.
I don't know what I should do. I'm pretty sure I'll just go to sleep, get up tomorrow, go to work and keep on. But I'm not doing it for me. I'm keeping on so that others won't be sad; my Dad, my sisters, nephew, a few (very few) friends, shrinks. But, frankly, there's nothing in it for me anymore, that I can discern. I don't see a future, or happiness or comfort; just more angst, anxiety, sadness and lonliness.
Solitary life in the Big Apple, I guess.
Catbird
Monday, October 30, 2006
Sadness/Repost
Originally posted ca. 10/29; taken down 11/01/06; revised, reposted 11/05/06
Dear Reader,
Lots to talk about; really tired. There are so many things going on now; one of my cats, Winky, has died, new clients, apartment upheaval, being discarded yet again.
I was “dumped” for the second time by a man I’d been seeing, sort of, for the last few months. The problem is that I feel a lot (obviously too much) for this man; I know he’s at many levels a good guy, and I thought we had a lot to share with one another. No, we didn’t have everything in common, but enough points to work from and we each have our own things to work on.
The first time he dumped me, he said we were “not a good fit.” I had no idea what he meant. Interestingly, in this first go round, prior to telling me I “wasn’t a good fit” for him, he was talking about how he had to upgrade his entire office staff (he has his own business). It was as if he were dismissing me at the same time he was dismissive of his employees. All I can infer from this is that he thought I was somehow lacking; I know I should not think that way, but it’s where my head goes.
In our second go-round, he asked me out (I was stunned, frankly), and took the initiative to restart our physical relationship. He seemed involved and interested; he talked about things he wanted us to do together, he said he wouldn’t bug out again, and he told me about his “real” girlfriend. I was saddened to find out that I was only the “other woman,” but was willing to take on the role, because I thought he was worth it. I tried to be attentive, flexible, open, undemanding and caring. Not good enough.
I got the classic “I don’t have romantic feelings for you,” as if these feelings develop instantly. He reiterated that he didn’t have “those feelings” for me, nor would he. He also let me know that none of the conversations we had had meant enough to him to even remember them, and I've gotten the feeling that any emails I sent were pretty much ignored. I know I tend to go on too much, and I know he was really busy all of the time, but it would have been nice if he had at least listened to me in some form. I apparently was not worth the effort, which makes me feel worth less. So, I’m alone again. This is terribly hard for me, but it seemed so easy for him. No big deal; can we be friends?
I don’t understand how some people can move so easily from one type of relating to another; how can someone move from being in a lovely, intimate interaction to being “pals” (or more sadly, enemies) with seemingly no difficulty? All I can conclude is that the intimacy meant little when it happened, which I thought was something not possible with this individual. I thought I was dealing with a self-aware, open, mature man, for whom intimacy was a meaningful and important part of relating. Apparently it was, just not with me. I feel bad, and cheapened, and less than I did before, and I hate feeling like this.
I have tried for years to not dwell on negative emotions. Recently, I have felt them all: anger, hate, self-doubt, jealousy, frustration, you name it. I have not been able to quash them and many of these have been turned inward, with the commensurate self-hating and depressive behaviors. I thought I had grown out of these things, but clearly not yet. And, all of this takes so much energy out of me; I am completely exhausted all of the time. Anger and hate are the worst. I truly don't like to feel these things; I know I'm making bad karmic causes, but I can't help myself.
The other blow from this episode is that I might have to stay away from my chorus until I feel better. It just hurts too much to see him, and not be able to talk or interact. And it feels bad to be just “one of the folks.” I communicated with him after he sang in a concert with the rest of our chorus men, as well as about 100 other guys, because I was so pleased to see what a good time he was having. He replied, and the result of this communication is that all of my hurt feelings have been re-activated. Oh, well, the chorus will survive for a while without me.
The one upside to this whole chapter has been that I have lost over 20 pounds in the last 4 months. This was weight that I could certainly spare, and wanted to lose, but I wish that I had lost it through increased activity of certain kinds, and not by way of having no appetite because I feel so bad all of the time. I suppose I should thank him for this.
It’s not as if there is nothing else going on in my life, either. I have been having a few medical issues; Winky has died; I’ve got work, my chorus work (I’m the treasurer), my gardens and other things to keep up with; but all have been overwhelmed by this situation with this man, which I can’t seem to process and get past.
This is so hard, and I have not figured out how to feel better.
More cheerful and interesting stuff soon, I promise!
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Dear Reader,
Lots to talk about; really tired. There are so many things going on now; one of my cats, Winky, has died, new clients, apartment upheaval, being discarded yet again.
I was “dumped” for the second time by a man I’d been seeing, sort of, for the last few months. The problem is that I feel a lot (obviously too much) for this man; I know he’s at many levels a good guy, and I thought we had a lot to share with one another. No, we didn’t have everything in common, but enough points to work from and we each have our own things to work on.
The first time he dumped me, he said we were “not a good fit.” I had no idea what he meant. Interestingly, in this first go round, prior to telling me I “wasn’t a good fit” for him, he was talking about how he had to upgrade his entire office staff (he has his own business). It was as if he were dismissing me at the same time he was dismissive of his employees. All I can infer from this is that he thought I was somehow lacking; I know I should not think that way, but it’s where my head goes.
In our second go-round, he asked me out (I was stunned, frankly), and took the initiative to restart our physical relationship. He seemed involved and interested; he talked about things he wanted us to do together, he said he wouldn’t bug out again, and he told me about his “real” girlfriend. I was saddened to find out that I was only the “other woman,” but was willing to take on the role, because I thought he was worth it. I tried to be attentive, flexible, open, undemanding and caring. Not good enough.
I got the classic “I don’t have romantic feelings for you,” as if these feelings develop instantly. He reiterated that he didn’t have “those feelings” for me, nor would he. He also let me know that none of the conversations we had had meant enough to him to even remember them, and I've gotten the feeling that any emails I sent were pretty much ignored. I know I tend to go on too much, and I know he was really busy all of the time, but it would have been nice if he had at least listened to me in some form. I apparently was not worth the effort, which makes me feel worth less. So, I’m alone again. This is terribly hard for me, but it seemed so easy for him. No big deal; can we be friends?
I don’t understand how some people can move so easily from one type of relating to another; how can someone move from being in a lovely, intimate interaction to being “pals” (or more sadly, enemies) with seemingly no difficulty? All I can conclude is that the intimacy meant little when it happened, which I thought was something not possible with this individual. I thought I was dealing with a self-aware, open, mature man, for whom intimacy was a meaningful and important part of relating. Apparently it was, just not with me. I feel bad, and cheapened, and less than I did before, and I hate feeling like this.
I have tried for years to not dwell on negative emotions. Recently, I have felt them all: anger, hate, self-doubt, jealousy, frustration, you name it. I have not been able to quash them and many of these have been turned inward, with the commensurate self-hating and depressive behaviors. I thought I had grown out of these things, but clearly not yet. And, all of this takes so much energy out of me; I am completely exhausted all of the time. Anger and hate are the worst. I truly don't like to feel these things; I know I'm making bad karmic causes, but I can't help myself.
The other blow from this episode is that I might have to stay away from my chorus until I feel better. It just hurts too much to see him, and not be able to talk or interact. And it feels bad to be just “one of the folks.” I communicated with him after he sang in a concert with the rest of our chorus men, as well as about 100 other guys, because I was so pleased to see what a good time he was having. He replied, and the result of this communication is that all of my hurt feelings have been re-activated. Oh, well, the chorus will survive for a while without me.
The one upside to this whole chapter has been that I have lost over 20 pounds in the last 4 months. This was weight that I could certainly spare, and wanted to lose, but I wish that I had lost it through increased activity of certain kinds, and not by way of having no appetite because I feel so bad all of the time. I suppose I should thank him for this.
It’s not as if there is nothing else going on in my life, either. I have been having a few medical issues; Winky has died; I’ve got work, my chorus work (I’m the treasurer), my gardens and other things to keep up with; but all have been overwhelmed by this situation with this man, which I can’t seem to process and get past.
This is so hard, and I have not figured out how to feel better.
More cheerful and interesting stuff soon, I promise!
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Relationship? Huh? What? Maybe? Nope!
Dear Reader,
A while ago, a friend of mine asked me what I expected from a relationship. He was, of course, talking about the type of RELATIONSHIP between a man and a woman. The dicey part of answering this question was that he was the man and I was the woman, so I don't think he asked me this simply out of idle curiosity. Or, considering subsequent actions on his part, maybe he did. He dumped me, for the second time, a week ago, so at least in this case, the question of RELATIONSHIP is moot.
At the time though, I said truthfully that I simply didn't know. I had not thought about a RELATIONSHIP for so many years, I really didn't know what I wanted anymore. I'm not sure, frankly, if I ever knew what I wanted, which may be the reason none of my RELATIONSHIPS ever lasted for any length of time.
I have spent the last several weeks considering this question and trying to formulate an honest, thorough and meaningful answer. I've thought about the kind of man I would like to be in a RELATIONSHIP with; see my earlier entry entitled “Relationship? Huh? What?” from October 14.
So, here is the answer to this incredibly loaded question: First and foremost, I want to like the person I am in a RELATIONSHIP with. Not love, LIKE. As in, I LIKE being around this person for any length of time, and I LIKE seeing him again after we’ve been apart, and I LIKE the way he is with me, and I LIKE the way he thinks. I believe people frequently fall in LOVE with folks they don’t particularly LIKE, or who don’t really LIKE them. I hope to avoid this.
Then, there are the qualities that apply to all relationships, listed in my previous entry: honesty, mutuality, respect, openness, communication, unconditionality. Next, the other more obvious aspects, I suppose: companionship, good talking, comfortableness, ease, some mutual interests (covered in the “MAN” section of my previous post), generosity, physical interaction at all levels; honesty, again, especially about feelings for one another; support in difficult times and joy in happy times.
More esoteric, I guess: a bit of “nudge-nudge, wink-wink,” in public; sharing problems and trying to solve them together, or at least offering suggestions; love, at some point, along with LIKE; down the road, exclusivity; later on perhaps, commitment, happily; security; understanding that there are needs, no matter how independent we want to portray ourselves as being; letting one another know as needs change, and working to accommodate and grow; understanding that people do change over time, and working to understand those changes in each other; hoping that this fosters a long-term, maybe lifelong relationship, which need only be acknowledged by the two people involved.
Here is what I wrote as the “Homily” when I officiated at my sister’s wedding in 1996 (long story; I’ll elaborate in another entry, if anyone is interested); I’ve substituted the word “relationship” for the word “marriage” (it WAS a wedding, after all):
Relationships sometimes begin with love, and are built on it, but are not built only of love.
In many ways, a relationship is like a house. It provides comfort and shelter to its occupants.
To maintain it in good condition, chores must be done; sweeping, cleaning, taking out the trash, keeping the lines of communication in working order.
Sometimes, you must make repairs when things age or break: fix a leak in the roof, or add extra insulation to keep the house comfortable during cold spells.
As time goes on, you may need to add an extra room, or put on a porch. And once in a while, to keep a house standing, you have to shore up the whole foundation.
The relationship is not an end in itself; like the house the people live in, it's a shared work in progress.
The following also beautifully describes RELATIONSHIPS; it's from "The Prophet," by Kahlil Gibran:
And he answered, saying: You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone.
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
These are probably the best expressions of what I hope to find in a “RELATIONSHIP” that I can enunciate. Feel free to use them for your wedding/committment/other ceremonies. Let me know if you do, so I can wish you well in your RELATIONSHIP.
It’s not all that complicated, now that I think about it. Sadly, it seems to become very complicated for me. I'm back to looking for that man I described in my earlier entry, in hopes of having a RELATIONSHIP. Oh, well, back to the drawing board, I suppose. I have to get over my hurt first; I'm still working on that.
More later, to be sure,
Catbird
A while ago, a friend of mine asked me what I expected from a relationship. He was, of course, talking about the type of RELATIONSHIP between a man and a woman. The dicey part of answering this question was that he was the man and I was the woman, so I don't think he asked me this simply out of idle curiosity. Or, considering subsequent actions on his part, maybe he did. He dumped me, for the second time, a week ago, so at least in this case, the question of RELATIONSHIP is moot.
At the time though, I said truthfully that I simply didn't know. I had not thought about a RELATIONSHIP for so many years, I really didn't know what I wanted anymore. I'm not sure, frankly, if I ever knew what I wanted, which may be the reason none of my RELATIONSHIPS ever lasted for any length of time.
I have spent the last several weeks considering this question and trying to formulate an honest, thorough and meaningful answer. I've thought about the kind of man I would like to be in a RELATIONSHIP with; see my earlier entry entitled “Relationship? Huh? What?” from October 14.
So, here is the answer to this incredibly loaded question: First and foremost, I want to like the person I am in a RELATIONSHIP with. Not love, LIKE. As in, I LIKE being around this person for any length of time, and I LIKE seeing him again after we’ve been apart, and I LIKE the way he is with me, and I LIKE the way he thinks. I believe people frequently fall in LOVE with folks they don’t particularly LIKE, or who don’t really LIKE them. I hope to avoid this.
Then, there are the qualities that apply to all relationships, listed in my previous entry: honesty, mutuality, respect, openness, communication, unconditionality. Next, the other more obvious aspects, I suppose: companionship, good talking, comfortableness, ease, some mutual interests (covered in the “MAN” section of my previous post), generosity, physical interaction at all levels; honesty, again, especially about feelings for one another; support in difficult times and joy in happy times.
More esoteric, I guess: a bit of “nudge-nudge, wink-wink,” in public; sharing problems and trying to solve them together, or at least offering suggestions; love, at some point, along with LIKE; down the road, exclusivity; later on perhaps, commitment, happily; security; understanding that there are needs, no matter how independent we want to portray ourselves as being; letting one another know as needs change, and working to accommodate and grow; understanding that people do change over time, and working to understand those changes in each other; hoping that this fosters a long-term, maybe lifelong relationship, which need only be acknowledged by the two people involved.
Here is what I wrote as the “Homily” when I officiated at my sister’s wedding in 1996 (long story; I’ll elaborate in another entry, if anyone is interested); I’ve substituted the word “relationship” for the word “marriage” (it WAS a wedding, after all):
Relationships sometimes begin with love, and are built on it, but are not built only of love.
In many ways, a relationship is like a house. It provides comfort and shelter to its occupants.
To maintain it in good condition, chores must be done; sweeping, cleaning, taking out the trash, keeping the lines of communication in working order.
Sometimes, you must make repairs when things age or break: fix a leak in the roof, or add extra insulation to keep the house comfortable during cold spells.
As time goes on, you may need to add an extra room, or put on a porch. And once in a while, to keep a house standing, you have to shore up the whole foundation.
The relationship is not an end in itself; like the house the people live in, it's a shared work in progress.
The following also beautifully describes RELATIONSHIPS; it's from "The Prophet," by Kahlil Gibran:
And he answered, saying: You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone.
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
These are probably the best expressions of what I hope to find in a “RELATIONSHIP” that I can enunciate. Feel free to use them for your wedding/committment/other ceremonies. Let me know if you do, so I can wish you well in your RELATIONSHIP.
It’s not all that complicated, now that I think about it. Sadly, it seems to become very complicated for me. I'm back to looking for that man I described in my earlier entry, in hopes of having a RELATIONSHIP. Oh, well, back to the drawing board, I suppose. I have to get over my hurt first; I'm still working on that.
More later, to be sure,
Catbird
Friday, October 27, 2006
Requiem for a Winkenbein
Dear Reader,
In an earlier post, entitled "Winkenbein" (http://catbirdeye.blogspot.com/2006/10/winkenbein.html), I briefly described the condition of one of my cats, Winky. She was battling an aggressive form of abdominal cancer. Yesterday, at about 11:20 AM, Winky lost the fight, and died. I was there with her. Feeling one of your pets die, on their own without help, is a very poignant and wrenching moment.
Winky was one of the most joyful animals I have ever known. Despite the facts that her life started in a place where the desire for her presence was conditional, and that when I came into possession of her she was fearful of certain things (raised hands, for example), she blossomed into a beautiful and generally happy cat. She would chase anything that moved: flies, moths, feet, fingers, tails (her own and others), even letters falling down the hallway mail chute. Then, she would keep watch for future offenders. She spent much time guarding the mail chute, waiting for another letter to come rushing down so that she could try and catch it.
She became known as the “Mayor of the Third Floor,” because of her penchant for waiting by the elevators for neighbors to appear and say hello. Although I wasn’t supposed to let the cats out into the hallway, the majority of my neighbors were happy to see her. She sometimes had conflicted reactions to certain people, especially those of the male persuasion, but I chalked that up to her early upbringing before she came to live with me.
Winky was the only cat my veterinarians had ever seen who presented with a dislocation of the tail. I came home from work one evening to find her almost normal, but her tail was hanging in a very odd way. When I tried to touch it, I got a pained yowl and a great swat. On further examination, I realized there was something seriously wrong with her back end. I took her to the emergency vets, who could not treat her because she was so wild from the pain she was in. They gave me pain meds, and told me to take her to my regular vet first thing in the morning.
Upon wheedling an emergency visit, I took her in to my trusted vets, still angry and in agony. Again, this vet looked at her, at the way her tail presented, and had no idea what was wrong. After she was sedated, an x-ray was taken, and the problem became apparent; she had two dislocated bones in her tail. In case you don’t know, the cat’s tail is simply an extension of the spine: more little vertebrae extending down to the tip. In this case, two of those little bones were out of line; one a lot, the other a little. The vet had never seen this. His first suggested treatment was possible amputation; I put the kibosh on that immediately. He then called a veterinary orthopedic specialist, and the consensus treatment was splinting and hoping the bones realigned. So, Winky had the embarrassment of a bound, splinted tail for six weeks, until it was determined that the bones had indeed realigned, and she could keep her magnificent tail, with full mobility. The mystery of how this injury happened has never been solved; neither Winky nor her fellow cats ever gave up what happened. All I know is, when I've mentioned "dislocated tail," I get looks of indignation and disbelief from cats and humans alike.
Her tail frequently expressed her joy (and irritation). Her leaping, jumping and running did, too. It broke my heart to watch her lose all of her beautiful body, and become reduced to a skeleton by the cancer that consumed her. I know she didn’t like to be seen that way, which is one reason I think she decided to go yesterday.
I think I tried to do all I could to care for her, but I still go through the litany of what I may have done wrong, or how I waited too long to take her to the vet in the first place (I thought she had hyperthyroidism; she was losing weight, but eating well and was otherwise asymptomatic); how I waited too long to have her surgery (see my previous entry); how I waited too long to get her started on meds (I could not afford, nor did I think chemo was the right course, but we tried steroids). I have been through long-term, wasting illnesses with all of my cats (my luck!), and have gone through this litany with each one. I’ve really worked hard with each one to get them the treatment I could, and give them the treatment I could (meds, sub-cutaneous fluids, insulin, etc.), but it never feels like it’s enough when they die.
Winky’s death yesterday was very peaceful. It was just us; Big Guy slept close by for a while, but then went to the other end of the bed when it was clear things were happening. Kootie kept her distance; she has issues.
I fell asleep with my hand on Winky’s chest, feeling her breathing. I woke up a few hours later, and readjusted her so she was on the towel I had for her. Another few hours after that, I woke to find her breathing heavily, but the breaths were irregular and jagged. I knew something had changed, and I listened as her breathing went through various changes. When it became apparent to me that she was going, I told her it was okay to go. It took a while for me to convince her (stubborn as ever!), but she finally rested. Her breathing stopped, but her good heart kept on beating for some time afterwards; nearly two minutes. I was told later by the vet that this was normal, although I want to attribute it to her joy in life and her stubbornness of character.
What a wonderful friend she was; I will miss her crumbly purr, her silky fur, and her insisting on sitting in my lap no matter what else I was doing. She was my Big Beauty, my Winkenbein, Winky.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
In an earlier post, entitled "Winkenbein" (http://catbirdeye.blogspot.com/2006/10/winkenbein.html), I briefly described the condition of one of my cats, Winky. She was battling an aggressive form of abdominal cancer. Yesterday, at about 11:20 AM, Winky lost the fight, and died. I was there with her. Feeling one of your pets die, on their own without help, is a very poignant and wrenching moment.
Winky was one of the most joyful animals I have ever known. Despite the facts that her life started in a place where the desire for her presence was conditional, and that when I came into possession of her she was fearful of certain things (raised hands, for example), she blossomed into a beautiful and generally happy cat. She would chase anything that moved: flies, moths, feet, fingers, tails (her own and others), even letters falling down the hallway mail chute. Then, she would keep watch for future offenders. She spent much time guarding the mail chute, waiting for another letter to come rushing down so that she could try and catch it.
She became known as the “Mayor of the Third Floor,” because of her penchant for waiting by the elevators for neighbors to appear and say hello. Although I wasn’t supposed to let the cats out into the hallway, the majority of my neighbors were happy to see her. She sometimes had conflicted reactions to certain people, especially those of the male persuasion, but I chalked that up to her early upbringing before she came to live with me.
Winky was the only cat my veterinarians had ever seen who presented with a dislocation of the tail. I came home from work one evening to find her almost normal, but her tail was hanging in a very odd way. When I tried to touch it, I got a pained yowl and a great swat. On further examination, I realized there was something seriously wrong with her back end. I took her to the emergency vets, who could not treat her because she was so wild from the pain she was in. They gave me pain meds, and told me to take her to my regular vet first thing in the morning.
Upon wheedling an emergency visit, I took her in to my trusted vets, still angry and in agony. Again, this vet looked at her, at the way her tail presented, and had no idea what was wrong. After she was sedated, an x-ray was taken, and the problem became apparent; she had two dislocated bones in her tail. In case you don’t know, the cat’s tail is simply an extension of the spine: more little vertebrae extending down to the tip. In this case, two of those little bones were out of line; one a lot, the other a little. The vet had never seen this. His first suggested treatment was possible amputation; I put the kibosh on that immediately. He then called a veterinary orthopedic specialist, and the consensus treatment was splinting and hoping the bones realigned. So, Winky had the embarrassment of a bound, splinted tail for six weeks, until it was determined that the bones had indeed realigned, and she could keep her magnificent tail, with full mobility. The mystery of how this injury happened has never been solved; neither Winky nor her fellow cats ever gave up what happened. All I know is, when I've mentioned "dislocated tail," I get looks of indignation and disbelief from cats and humans alike.
Her tail frequently expressed her joy (and irritation). Her leaping, jumping and running did, too. It broke my heart to watch her lose all of her beautiful body, and become reduced to a skeleton by the cancer that consumed her. I know she didn’t like to be seen that way, which is one reason I think she decided to go yesterday.
I think I tried to do all I could to care for her, but I still go through the litany of what I may have done wrong, or how I waited too long to take her to the vet in the first place (I thought she had hyperthyroidism; she was losing weight, but eating well and was otherwise asymptomatic); how I waited too long to have her surgery (see my previous entry); how I waited too long to get her started on meds (I could not afford, nor did I think chemo was the right course, but we tried steroids). I have been through long-term, wasting illnesses with all of my cats (my luck!), and have gone through this litany with each one. I’ve really worked hard with each one to get them the treatment I could, and give them the treatment I could (meds, sub-cutaneous fluids, insulin, etc.), but it never feels like it’s enough when they die.
Winky’s death yesterday was very peaceful. It was just us; Big Guy slept close by for a while, but then went to the other end of the bed when it was clear things were happening. Kootie kept her distance; she has issues.
I fell asleep with my hand on Winky’s chest, feeling her breathing. I woke up a few hours later, and readjusted her so she was on the towel I had for her. Another few hours after that, I woke to find her breathing heavily, but the breaths were irregular and jagged. I knew something had changed, and I listened as her breathing went through various changes. When it became apparent to me that she was going, I told her it was okay to go. It took a while for me to convince her (stubborn as ever!), but she finally rested. Her breathing stopped, but her good heart kept on beating for some time afterwards; nearly two minutes. I was told later by the vet that this was normal, although I want to attribute it to her joy in life and her stubbornness of character.
What a wonderful friend she was; I will miss her crumbly purr, her silky fur, and her insisting on sitting in my lap no matter what else I was doing. She was my Big Beauty, my Winkenbein, Winky.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Family History? Yikes!
Dear Reader,
I have a terribly embarrassing secret, especially and remarkably for someone who lives in New York City, in the post 9/11 era, or any time for that matter.
My grandparents, on my father’s side, were members of the Ku Klux Klan for a short while in the 1920's.
How did this happen? How is it possible that my dad had a career as a well respected lawyer and judge for the US Navy and the US Coast Guard (more on this later; suffice it to say he served as an Appeals Court justice for both services, and served at the top of the US Naval trial judiciary), and never gave any hint of this? How was it that my mom came and lived, studied and worked for several years in the ‘40’s in New York City and never gave a hint of it either, although she did know that her in-laws had been Klan members?
And how have I ended up as a fairly typical New York City, Ivy-league-educated liberal, and have grandparents who were KKK members?
History is fascinating. How do I know my grandfolks were Klan members? Well, not only do we have a photo, but we have the robes and hoods. Yes, my Grandma’s robe is the really short one (she was about 5’2”), and Grandad’s is the really long one (he was tall, 6’). And hoods. In fact, when we found these artifacts, my sister’s husband (at the time; they have since divorced), who is Jewish, moved to try on one of the hoods. My sister and I both snatched it away from him, fearful of spontaneous combustion. Jokingly, but not totally so,
Is there any way I can accept this as part of my heritage historically, and still feel that I’m legitimate in the studies I've done of the Holocaust and Nazi Germany? This is a topic I have been working on since high school; it was my sub-major in college. I know more about the actual Holocaust than many Jews my age or younger, and I know much more about the circumstances and history which led to it. But, as a “shiksa,” my knowledge is often looked upon as just a bit of passing interest, nothing scholarly. I have a couple of book ideas, but I haven’t had the time or resources to pursue them, which is frustrating.
Why did my grandparents become KKK members, especially given the isolated corner of West Virginia they lived in (and where we still own property)? Frankly, there were none of the people against whom the Klan generally operates; there was no black population, no Jews, very few Catholics, no Irish. These were pretty much the only noticable ethnic groups in America in those days, although on the west coast there were Chinese and Mexicans. There were several reasons, in the decade from 1918 or so, until 1929, that many middle class people joined societies which ostensibly promoted Christian moralism, purity of family and locale, and a general xenophobia. These people had just been through what was at that time referred to as the “Great War,” World War I. These days, we hardly recognize this as a war, but it was a watershed event in the history of the US.
With its involvement in World War I, from 1917 to November 11, 1918, America for the first time demonstrated its true power to the rest of the world, as an amalgam of peoples and cultures. This was when the USA became a “world power,” though at the time, still a reluctant one. It’s always about war, isn’t it? But, in reaction to the country 's involvement in the war, a huge movement grew up that was against any further "foreign entanglements." Groups like the Klan fed on this fear of the outside world.
In addition to WW I, the United States had sustained a huge influx of immigrants from about 1890 to 1920 or so. In the immediate area of this inflow, New York City (yes, good old New York City, the easy target for the rest of the country!), the immigrants generally got along, but as they spread out across the country, other communities were not as open or enlightened as New York, or other coastal American cities were to these new residents. There was still the huge base of people who felt that, because they were born in this country, they had more right to the place than others.
Founded shortly after the end of the Civil War as a reaction to the South's loss, the membership and influence of the Ku Klux Klan waxed and waned over the years. The rise of the KKK in the 1920’s was really in response to this fear of a “de-Americanization” or perhaps the “de-Anglicization” of the USA. It also had much to do with the fear of the outside world that was fostered by America's involvement in WW I. Frankly, it’s not so much different from some of what’s going on now, with the Minutemen on the Mexican border, and a lot of the other anti-immigrant ranters being publicly and happily supported. The only things many of the current anti-immigrationists lack are the robes and hoods. I can share my little piece of history with them, if they want.
I have a terribly embarrassing secret, especially and remarkably for someone who lives in New York City, in the post 9/11 era, or any time for that matter.
My grandparents, on my father’s side, were members of the Ku Klux Klan for a short while in the 1920's.
How did this happen? How is it possible that my dad had a career as a well respected lawyer and judge for the US Navy and the US Coast Guard (more on this later; suffice it to say he served as an Appeals Court justice for both services, and served at the top of the US Naval trial judiciary), and never gave any hint of this? How was it that my mom came and lived, studied and worked for several years in the ‘40’s in New York City and never gave a hint of it either, although she did know that her in-laws had been Klan members?
And how have I ended up as a fairly typical New York City, Ivy-league-educated liberal, and have grandparents who were KKK members?
History is fascinating. How do I know my grandfolks were Klan members? Well, not only do we have a photo, but we have the robes and hoods. Yes, my Grandma’s robe is the really short one (she was about 5’2”), and Grandad’s is the really long one (he was tall, 6’). And hoods. In fact, when we found these artifacts, my sister’s husband (at the time; they have since divorced), who is Jewish, moved to try on one of the hoods. My sister and I both snatched it away from him, fearful of spontaneous combustion. Jokingly, but not totally so,
Is there any way I can accept this as part of my heritage historically, and still feel that I’m legitimate in the studies I've done of the Holocaust and Nazi Germany? This is a topic I have been working on since high school; it was my sub-major in college. I know more about the actual Holocaust than many Jews my age or younger, and I know much more about the circumstances and history which led to it. But, as a “shiksa,” my knowledge is often looked upon as just a bit of passing interest, nothing scholarly. I have a couple of book ideas, but I haven’t had the time or resources to pursue them, which is frustrating.
Why did my grandparents become KKK members, especially given the isolated corner of West Virginia they lived in (and where we still own property)? Frankly, there were none of the people against whom the Klan generally operates; there was no black population, no Jews, very few Catholics, no Irish. These were pretty much the only noticable ethnic groups in America in those days, although on the west coast there were Chinese and Mexicans. There were several reasons, in the decade from 1918 or so, until 1929, that many middle class people joined societies which ostensibly promoted Christian moralism, purity of family and locale, and a general xenophobia. These people had just been through what was at that time referred to as the “Great War,” World War I. These days, we hardly recognize this as a war, but it was a watershed event in the history of the US.
With its involvement in World War I, from 1917 to November 11, 1918, America for the first time demonstrated its true power to the rest of the world, as an amalgam of peoples and cultures. This was when the USA became a “world power,” though at the time, still a reluctant one. It’s always about war, isn’t it? But, in reaction to the country 's involvement in the war, a huge movement grew up that was against any further "foreign entanglements." Groups like the Klan fed on this fear of the outside world.
In addition to WW I, the United States had sustained a huge influx of immigrants from about 1890 to 1920 or so. In the immediate area of this inflow, New York City (yes, good old New York City, the easy target for the rest of the country!), the immigrants generally got along, but as they spread out across the country, other communities were not as open or enlightened as New York, or other coastal American cities were to these new residents. There was still the huge base of people who felt that, because they were born in this country, they had more right to the place than others.
Founded shortly after the end of the Civil War as a reaction to the South's loss, the membership and influence of the Ku Klux Klan waxed and waned over the years. The rise of the KKK in the 1920’s was really in response to this fear of a “de-Americanization” or perhaps the “de-Anglicization” of the USA. It also had much to do with the fear of the outside world that was fostered by America's involvement in WW I. Frankly, it’s not so much different from some of what’s going on now, with the Minutemen on the Mexican border, and a lot of the other anti-immigrant ranters being publicly and happily supported. The only things many of the current anti-immigrationists lack are the robes and hoods. I can share my little piece of history with them, if they want.
I will say in my grandparents' defense that in all of the time I knew them, I never heard a racist remark or anything said that was derogatory about anyone who was not a "WASP." The Klan membership was short-lived, and in America in general at the time, the Klan began to whither fairly rapidly after explosive growth in the early '20's.
My grandfolks were good, hardworking people, who really did try to live as they believed. My grandmother helped people who lived back up in the "hollers," with shoes and clothes for their kids so they could go to school, and even soap to get them cleaned up. She taught herself to play piano, then gave lessons. She and Grandad were gospel singers, and had a quartet that performed on the radio sometimes and went to tent revivals. Grandad had been a coal miner (it was West Virginia, after all) and also worked as a farmer. He had a wonderful strawberry patch, and was "King" of the Buckhannon, WV Strawberry Festival one year. I am not trying to excuse their KKK connection, but I don't think that was who they really WERE.
I readily acknowledge this association they had, but I choose to remember Grandma and Grandad as the loving, caring people they always were to me.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Home Improvements?
Dear Reader,
I am currently in the throes of what is a major restructuring of my living space, my little studio apartment. I have lived in this apartment since July, 1981; yes, 25 years, 1/2 of my life. Whoa!
There are several reasons for this stasis, not the least of which is the fact that, in New York City lingo, I am rent-stabilized. This means that my rent can only be raised incrementally, and the increments are determined annually by a huge fight at the Rent Stabilization Board, during which the various parties argue that whatever decision is made will either make 1/3 of NY City apartment dwellers homeless (against increases), or that all of the landlords will be forced to sell off their buildings to the highest bidder (for increases). The rent increases ultimately decided upon are always much below the market, and supposedly not enough to support the expenses of the landlords, although they aren’t going out of business that fast.
In any case, my current rent remains well below that of the market rate for my apartment, by about 40-50%. Part of the reason, aside from “rent stabilization,” is that my landlord took my building COOP in the mid-‘80’s. As part of this step, the “sponsor” tried to demonstrate that all of the people living in the building at the time were “hotel guests,” not rent-paying tenants. So, there were a couple of years of litigation, during which the rents in the building were frozen. When things were finally settled, rents began to increase again, but only within the boundaries of the Rent Stabilization Board. So, I got a couple of years of rent control, which has kept me below market.
But, why else would I stay in my apartment for so long, when I’ve obviously outgrown it, at least materially?
Well, basically, I love it. It’s in a pre-WW II building, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. This is the most desirable neighborhood in NYC at the moment. It’s always been a great neighborhood, although when I moved here in 1981 it still had a pretty large “funk” factor. The problem with the area at that time was that it was too far south of Columbia University (at 116th St.) to have much of that influence trickle down, and too far north of 96th St., the last major stop on the No. 1 subway line, to be part of that area. My immediate area on 102nd St. was sort of a no-man’s land. We do have a subway stop on the next block, but back in those days it was pretty much a homeless shelter and drug supermarket. But at the time, it was the only apartment I could afford, so I took it. It was a doorman building (still is), had a 24-hour laundry in the basement, was close to the subway, was on Broadway, which I love, and the layout wasn’t too bad. So, what's not to love? If I won the lottery tomorrow, I would keep my apartment, and continue to use it as an office or pied a terre, even as I bought other apartments in my building to live in. But that’s only if I win the lottery!
Over the years, I have developed very deep roots in this neighborhood. In addition to being within walking distance of Barnard/Columbia, where I went to school, I am also within blocks of the woman with whom I have worked for the last 22 years. I have worked in various volunteer gardening roles in the neighborhood, including in the medians of Broadway for 12 years, and currently in Riverside Park, which is 2 cross-town blocks (longer than avenue blocks) away from me. I’ve made many friends and acquaintances in the neighborhood, from the paper guy at 101st St. to the “boys” who hang out at the Broadway Restaurant, which is also the only place I know where one can get grits for breakfast.
So, I love the neighborhood, the price is right, the apartment, though small, is a good one for one person. Why move?
The problem with not moving, of course, is the inevitable accumulation of stuff over time. Moving can provide that incentive to shed things; to decide if you really want to bring those books you didn’t read in college with you, or whether you really will ever wear those platform shoes again. I come from a family who moved fairly regularly, at least when I was a kid. During those moves, I have to admit, my parents pretty much brought everything, and didn’t make too many of those decisions. When we moved from New Mexico to Rhode Island (look it up; that’s quite a move!), we even brought our cat! When we moved to Europe we took almost everything, but some items did stay behind in storage. Very little was actually shed. So, as you might surmise, I have a problem with getting rid of things. Hence, the attempted restructuring that’s happening now.
But first, I’ve had to work on the actual physical plant. I did an extensive re-surfacing, repainting and making improvements in 1990, but have done little since. I needed new appliances in the kitchen, and the apartment ceiling needs painting desperately. Got the new stove, but the new fridge didn’t work, so went back to the old one. Kitchen still needs work, really a paint job, which I may do next summer. And a Deep Cleaning, hopefully before the painting. The main room ceiling painting is scheduled, but what I have to do to prepare for the painters seems nearly impossible at this point. I’ll do my best; certainly, I’ll do all the taping, because I know if I don’t they will ruin my detailing. I don’t know how I’m going to make the place accessible to the painters, but I’ll figure something out. The problem is, of course, that I simply have too much stuff in the apartment to be able to make room for a paint crew. I wish I could do this myself, but I just don’t have the time or energy at this point. It will be a challenge in space-making; I hope I’m up to it.
Over the last 15 years I’ve accumulated a garage load of gardening tools, equipment and paraphernalia, which I need to find a way of storing in the apartment. I do use the tools pretty regularly so they can’t go to storage. I’ve also accumulated the requisite papers; business, news and other. I tend to save papers; souvenirs of concerts and events; papers from my choruses; materials from my clients and former clients (not work related); and all of the standard financial, banking, other stuff. I also like to save articles from the newspaper. I know I could get them on-line, but I like the tactile-ness of the printed page. I cut out recipes, articles about nature, parks and space, stuff that interests me. Frequently I have read them through and decide I want them for my “archive,” but just as frequently I cut them out with the idea that I’ll read them “later,” whenever later turns out to be. I also keep the NY Times magazines, until I have a chance to leaf through them, and I am working on doing the Sunday crosswords, but it takes a lot of time. Anyway, too many things I like to keep, too little space, and I am working on culling stuff and finally parting with some of it.
Another issue in my apartment is my cats. I have had 3-4 cats for most of the time I have lived here. This makes for a lot of shed hair and general messiness. Although cats are fastidious about their immediate persons, they don’t pick up or sweep after themselves. Add to this that I am just not a very good housekeeper, at least of my own house, and this adds up to long periods where I simply don’t vacuum/dust/mop, etc.
I am trying to get my house in order so that I can have friends in my place without my being completely embarrassed, or their being completely uncomfortable. I’m concerned that at the moment, the place is so disorderly and crowded, that folks would not be at ease, but be looking to run for the door. I am hoping to avoid this.
This process is difficult for me, but I hope my friends will understand that I am doing this so that I can have them in my home, and they will be comfortable. Yes, I am afraid of judgmentalism, but I’m more afraid of people being unhappy, and I am striving to avoid that. I’m hoping to be able to have folks in before Thanksgiving, or certainly before Christmas. We’ll see.
Any suggestions?
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
I am currently in the throes of what is a major restructuring of my living space, my little studio apartment. I have lived in this apartment since July, 1981; yes, 25 years, 1/2 of my life. Whoa!
There are several reasons for this stasis, not the least of which is the fact that, in New York City lingo, I am rent-stabilized. This means that my rent can only be raised incrementally, and the increments are determined annually by a huge fight at the Rent Stabilization Board, during which the various parties argue that whatever decision is made will either make 1/3 of NY City apartment dwellers homeless (against increases), or that all of the landlords will be forced to sell off their buildings to the highest bidder (for increases). The rent increases ultimately decided upon are always much below the market, and supposedly not enough to support the expenses of the landlords, although they aren’t going out of business that fast.
In any case, my current rent remains well below that of the market rate for my apartment, by about 40-50%. Part of the reason, aside from “rent stabilization,” is that my landlord took my building COOP in the mid-‘80’s. As part of this step, the “sponsor” tried to demonstrate that all of the people living in the building at the time were “hotel guests,” not rent-paying tenants. So, there were a couple of years of litigation, during which the rents in the building were frozen. When things were finally settled, rents began to increase again, but only within the boundaries of the Rent Stabilization Board. So, I got a couple of years of rent control, which has kept me below market.
But, why else would I stay in my apartment for so long, when I’ve obviously outgrown it, at least materially?
Well, basically, I love it. It’s in a pre-WW II building, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. This is the most desirable neighborhood in NYC at the moment. It’s always been a great neighborhood, although when I moved here in 1981 it still had a pretty large “funk” factor. The problem with the area at that time was that it was too far south of Columbia University (at 116th St.) to have much of that influence trickle down, and too far north of 96th St., the last major stop on the No. 1 subway line, to be part of that area. My immediate area on 102nd St. was sort of a no-man’s land. We do have a subway stop on the next block, but back in those days it was pretty much a homeless shelter and drug supermarket. But at the time, it was the only apartment I could afford, so I took it. It was a doorman building (still is), had a 24-hour laundry in the basement, was close to the subway, was on Broadway, which I love, and the layout wasn’t too bad. So, what's not to love? If I won the lottery tomorrow, I would keep my apartment, and continue to use it as an office or pied a terre, even as I bought other apartments in my building to live in. But that’s only if I win the lottery!
Over the years, I have developed very deep roots in this neighborhood. In addition to being within walking distance of Barnard/Columbia, where I went to school, I am also within blocks of the woman with whom I have worked for the last 22 years. I have worked in various volunteer gardening roles in the neighborhood, including in the medians of Broadway for 12 years, and currently in Riverside Park, which is 2 cross-town blocks (longer than avenue blocks) away from me. I’ve made many friends and acquaintances in the neighborhood, from the paper guy at 101st St. to the “boys” who hang out at the Broadway Restaurant, which is also the only place I know where one can get grits for breakfast.
So, I love the neighborhood, the price is right, the apartment, though small, is a good one for one person. Why move?
The problem with not moving, of course, is the inevitable accumulation of stuff over time. Moving can provide that incentive to shed things; to decide if you really want to bring those books you didn’t read in college with you, or whether you really will ever wear those platform shoes again. I come from a family who moved fairly regularly, at least when I was a kid. During those moves, I have to admit, my parents pretty much brought everything, and didn’t make too many of those decisions. When we moved from New Mexico to Rhode Island (look it up; that’s quite a move!), we even brought our cat! When we moved to Europe we took almost everything, but some items did stay behind in storage. Very little was actually shed. So, as you might surmise, I have a problem with getting rid of things. Hence, the attempted restructuring that’s happening now.
But first, I’ve had to work on the actual physical plant. I did an extensive re-surfacing, repainting and making improvements in 1990, but have done little since. I needed new appliances in the kitchen, and the apartment ceiling needs painting desperately. Got the new stove, but the new fridge didn’t work, so went back to the old one. Kitchen still needs work, really a paint job, which I may do next summer. And a Deep Cleaning, hopefully before the painting. The main room ceiling painting is scheduled, but what I have to do to prepare for the painters seems nearly impossible at this point. I’ll do my best; certainly, I’ll do all the taping, because I know if I don’t they will ruin my detailing. I don’t know how I’m going to make the place accessible to the painters, but I’ll figure something out. The problem is, of course, that I simply have too much stuff in the apartment to be able to make room for a paint crew. I wish I could do this myself, but I just don’t have the time or energy at this point. It will be a challenge in space-making; I hope I’m up to it.
Over the last 15 years I’ve accumulated a garage load of gardening tools, equipment and paraphernalia, which I need to find a way of storing in the apartment. I do use the tools pretty regularly so they can’t go to storage. I’ve also accumulated the requisite papers; business, news and other. I tend to save papers; souvenirs of concerts and events; papers from my choruses; materials from my clients and former clients (not work related); and all of the standard financial, banking, other stuff. I also like to save articles from the newspaper. I know I could get them on-line, but I like the tactile-ness of the printed page. I cut out recipes, articles about nature, parks and space, stuff that interests me. Frequently I have read them through and decide I want them for my “archive,” but just as frequently I cut them out with the idea that I’ll read them “later,” whenever later turns out to be. I also keep the NY Times magazines, until I have a chance to leaf through them, and I am working on doing the Sunday crosswords, but it takes a lot of time. Anyway, too many things I like to keep, too little space, and I am working on culling stuff and finally parting with some of it.
Another issue in my apartment is my cats. I have had 3-4 cats for most of the time I have lived here. This makes for a lot of shed hair and general messiness. Although cats are fastidious about their immediate persons, they don’t pick up or sweep after themselves. Add to this that I am just not a very good housekeeper, at least of my own house, and this adds up to long periods where I simply don’t vacuum/dust/mop, etc.
I am trying to get my house in order so that I can have friends in my place without my being completely embarrassed, or their being completely uncomfortable. I’m concerned that at the moment, the place is so disorderly and crowded, that folks would not be at ease, but be looking to run for the door. I am hoping to avoid this.
This process is difficult for me, but I hope my friends will understand that I am doing this so that I can have them in my home, and they will be comfortable. Yes, I am afraid of judgmentalism, but I’m more afraid of people being unhappy, and I am striving to avoid that. I’m hoping to be able to have folks in before Thanksgiving, or certainly before Christmas. We’ll see.
Any suggestions?
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
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